


The Vine

by paperwhite



Series: Some Little Infamy [2]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Crowley does what he wants, Crowley enjoys doing bad things, Crowley enjoys doing good things disguised as bad things, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-05
Updated: 2014-03-05
Packaged: 2018-01-14 16:55:45
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,689
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1274020
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/paperwhite/pseuds/paperwhite
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Part two of my "Crowley has a social life other than Castiel or the Winchesters."</p>
<p>The Series title is inspired by the Johannes Cabal books.  I think Crowley and Mr. Cabal would get along nicely.  Possibly.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Vine

You woke to cool air on the back of your neck, and the brush of lips against your spine. Tensing for the briefest of moments, melting back into the mattress when stubble rasps against the delicate skin on your back. A soft moan escapes your lips, breathing in the scent of him on the mussed sheets; musk, sulfur, leather, and just a hint of blood on a hillside. Crowley trails kisses down your vertebrae, fingers following in lazy swirls over the tingling flesh. When reaching the small of your back, you cannot help but smile as you hear a low whisper,

 

_“I dreamed this mortal part of mine_

_Was metamorphosed to a vine,”_

 

“Are you a poet this evening?” you ask dryly.

 

_“Which crawling one and every way_

_Enthralled my dainty Lucia._

_Methought her long small legs and thighs_

_I with my tendrils did surprise;”_ his voice a rumbling hum filling your ears.

 

Letting out a sound of dazed astonishment as his graceful fingers graze the curve of your bottom, then down smooth thighs, tickling the back of your knees. His lips follow, a path of caresses that end when you feel him begin to turn you. Obliging his fancy, you languidly twist on the soft bed, eyes heavy-lidded with both desire and drowsiness – the former quickly overtaking the latter.

 

_“Her belly, buttocks, and her waist_

_By my soft nervelets were embraced._

_About her head I writhing hung,”_

 

Retaking his place at your knees, Crowley’s hands run up your sides fleetingly, then leisurely skimming your soft abdomen, thumbs circling your navel before continuing over your hips, pressing his fingertips around the bones before circling back towards your ass, giving it a sharp pinch before continuing his roving attentions. Kneeling up on the bed, you watch as his body moves in the light of the few candles he must have lit when you were asleep. Crowley eschewed unnatural light, and preferred moonlight or darkness altogether. Watching him observing your body, you could appreciate his. The way strong shoulders curved into a stocky torso, a boxer’s frame. The smooth lines of transition between abdomen and hips, dark whorls of hair that had your fingers tingling to feel.

 

 

_“And with rich clusters (hid among The leaves)_

_her temples I behung,_

_So that my Lucia seemed to me_

_Young Bacchus ravished by his tree.”_

 

At that, he surged upwards, capturing your mouth in a full kiss. Passionate and intense as his lips worked against yours, tongue flicking inside. He thoroughly explored your mouth, tongue dancing against yours, only to pull back before deepening the kiss again. As he did, his hands wandered, from your shoulders and neck, then down your arms, stopping to press at the tissue-paper thin skin in the crook of your elbow, then to your wrists, encircling them, noting your pulse racing as he drew them up, up in an arc over your head- all the while aggressively kissing you. Reluctantly dragging his lips from yours, to whisper in your ear,

 

_“My curls about her neck did crawl,_

_And arms and hands they did enthrall,_

_So that she could not freely stir_

_(All parts there made one prisoner).”_

 

The snap of metal and the cool slide of iron on your wrists wrests you from your lusty haze. Glancing up at your hands, your eyebrows raise to notice the cuffs now around them. “I did promise,” purrs Crowley. He places a quick kiss to where the metal and skin meet, placing small bites as he brought his attention back to your face, laying a path from earlobe to neck, finding the spot where he bit earlier, laving his tongue over the forming bruise, moaning greedily at the whimper that escapes your mouth. His weight keeps you pinned beneath him, hands exploring every contour they find.

 

_“But when I crept with leaves to hide_

_Those parts which maids keep unespied,_

_Such fleeting pleasures there I took”_

 

And his mouth continued its mission to plot those contours, occasionally stopping to nip and suck at a particular spot until love bites formed across your torso. Licking a long stripe on the crease where pelvis met thigh, Crowley nuzzled your flesh until he was at your center, his eyes drawing your attention to him as he darted his tongue out to brush your clit. He takes slow, languorous laps as he groans in satisfaction. His voice alone could make you wet, and peering down at him, face buried between your thighs as if he was at a feast, could only make the knot in your stomach tighten into a driving hunger. His clever tongue found his prize, and worried it faster. You felt his teeth on your nether lips, small grazes that had you gasping and almost thrashing beneath him. Earlier exertions have you all but useless, but still he manages to coax another orgasm from you, a forfeit that leaves you strung out, hands still manacled over your head. Opening your eyes for a moment, perusing his body, watching the sinuous movement of strong legs and wide shoulders as he climbs over you again, a self-satisfied air to his words,

 

_“That with the fancy I awoke;_

_And found (ah me!) this flesh of mine_

_More like a stock than like a vine.”_

 

Grinning, you can feel the hardness that he had only been teasing you with, nudging at your entrance. “Crowley,” you whimper “fuck me.”

“Mmm, I do enjoy hearing that, lover. Beg.”

“Crowley, please fuck me. Please…please I need you to fuck me.” You spread your legs wider to accommodate him, as he settles himself. Grasping his cock, he rubs it at your entrance, teasing you, as his sly smile gauges your reaction. Impatient, you attempt to grind against him, but he is quicker than you, and runs his hand along your thigh, giving it two slaps on top of each other. He took up his unhurried torment, sinking the tip of his cock inside for a moment, then withdrawing. Repeating the process again and again until all you could do was chant “Please, Crowley, please…”until your mouth was dry. And still, he watched with those cunning eyes; sparkling, fiendish, and strangely amiable. He never hid his nature from you, nor yours from him. That you could give each other what you needed, without judgment or repercussions, spoke for itself on the extent of your mutual regard. And this exceptional man was there, finally, finally pressing himself within, sheathing himself to the hilt. You cant your hips upwards to meet his, his lusty moaning at your acceptance teasing your ear.

A series of shallow thrusts follows, each pushing him deeper into you, until your bodies are sliding together, his arms on either side of your head, ghosting kisses across your cheeks and neck. You turn in his embrace, mouth finding the skin of his arm, pressing kisses to his flesh, then small nibbles following. Every thrust is followed by a pant, his focus unerring as he takes you. Cuffed hands loop around the back of his neck, pulling him closer, forcing his arms to bend at the elbow to kiss your lips once more. Both of your staggered breaths mixing as your rhythm evened out.

Watching as his eyes flutter shut, truly lost in the pleasure he was finding. Gripping his neck tightly, letting your cries fill his ears and latching a leg around his body and effectively rolling both of you until you perched on top of him. Crowley’s eyes snap open, a mixture of admiration and surprise as he focuses on his new position. “Little minx,” he gasps. Swirling your hips on his, grinding against him, you slowly ride Crowley. Bracing your still cuffed hands on his chest, watching his face as your nail scratches against his nipple. Your stomach undulates as you work yourself on him. The rhythm begins again, eyes meeting as his appreciative gaze makes you flush. Crowley grips your hips, assisting your movements, digging his thumbs into your flesh, his touch grounding you. He sits up, better to catch one of your nipples in his mouth, sucking greedily. Fitting your hands behind his head again, you allow your own fingers to smooth through his hair, the softness making you lament its length, wanting something you could pull. Instead, you grip as he thrusts up and into you, the irregular movements telling you he’s close. You bear down on him, wanting him deep in you. A sharp drive and his muffled shout as he comes, almost lifting you from the bed as he presses inside. Both of your breathing erratic as he slides back down to the bed under you, your own body rolling slightly to the side.

Time seems almost immeasurable as you lie there, collecting your breath. Crowley’s begin to even out, and you feel the cuffs on your hand release, before slide from you, dropped off the side of the bed. Taking the opportunity, you idly run your hands over his torso, feeling the downy hair on your fingertips. He pulls the sheet up and over you both, adjusting the pillows. You glance up in muted shock, “Staying the night?” That would be a first.

“I’ve heard a gentleman makes breakfast for his lady after a night like this.”

“Let me know if either a gentleman or a lady show up, then. None here,” you wryly reply.

That earned you a ruffling of your already untidy hair and a chuckle of his own. “And besides, you don’t have to feel obliged. You’ve got a lot on your mind,” you say more seriously.

“And yet, if I don’t eat fresh peaches off your skin come morning, I’m likely to not think about anything else. So hush now, and let daddy think for a while as you sleep.”

Giving him a small shake of your head, you settle down next to him. Moving to withdraw your arm, you still as he places his hand over yours, keeping it across his chest. Crowley leaves you to wonder, his hands lazily fingering your locks as you drift back to sleep, dreaming of creeping vines and demon kings.

**Author's Note:**

> The poem used in this work is "The Vine" by Robert Herrick.


End file.
